It isn't winter, but it feels just a little like it. Also, I have reached the winter poems in the Random House Treasury of Best-Loved Poems. Today's poem by Robert Southey, Winter Portrait, examines the different faces of winter.

Winter Portrait by Robert Southey

A wrinkled, crabbed man they picture thee,Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grayAs the long moss upon the apple tree;Blue lipped, an ice drop at thy sharp blue nose,Close muffled up, and on they dreary wayPlodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.They should have drawn they by the high-leaped hearth,Old Winter! seated in thy great armed chair,Watching the children at their Christmas mirth.

While winter isn't my favorite season, I do enjoy it. I love the snow, blazing fireplaces and the smell of woodsmoke. I love snuggling under the down comforter or on the sofa, reading a book while sipping hot chocolate. I love walking the dog, leaving our footprints in the snow.

My winter isn't an old man at all, but rather a red-cheeked young woman wearing an ankle-length, white faux-fur coat, ear-muffs and mittens, laughing and running through the snow. What's your winter?

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Comments

Yeah, snow rules. I love the stuff. Probably has something to do with the fact that we didn't get snow in South Africa (once every 20 years, maybe!). I love white Christmasses for that very reason - it was usually 85 degrees and sunny at Xmas time when I was a kid.